Making a Difference
by Talomor
Summary: NextGeneration. History would not repeat itself, not while Dumbledore's Army was watching. The Marauders' history, on the other hand, would repeat itself, if Fred Weasley and James Potter had anything to say about it.
1. Making a Difference

Making a Difference

The Leaky Cauldron was still as tiny and grubby-looking as it had been the fateful day the famous Harry Potter, Chosen One, Savior of the Wizarding World, had laid eyes on it the first time – no matter what Hannah Longbottom had tried to do about it. The grubbiness seemed to be part of the establishment. The Muggles hurrying by still didn't glance it. Only the shops on the sides changed once in a while.

The inside, though, had changed tremendously since the Second War was over. It was a brighter room now, decorated tastefully in clear colors, and furnished in light woods. On every surface, there were flowers blooming. In a corner, out of the line of sight, there was the long table, were the surviving members of the DA and the Order of the Phoenix held their monthly meetings, just to keep in touch and to talk about what was going on around the Wizarding World. They were not yet old enough to talk about "old times". Maybe they would never be.

On a board above the table, someone had very carefully pinned the Orders of Merlin of all the members of the DA and the Order who had died in the Battle of Hogwarts or during the war. Outside those meetings, no one dared sitting at that table.

Most visitors just walked through anyway, giving the still young-looking woman with the friendly pink face and the long blond braid behind the bar only a curt nod. Parents sometimes whispered to their kids as they passed, and once in a while a boy or a girl would point a finger and ask: "She's a hero from the Battle of Hogwarts, isn't she?" and the parents would shush them at once. Mrs. Hannah Longbottom, former member of the DA, new owner of the Leaky Cauldron, only smiled warmly at them. She had indeed been at the Battle of Hogwarts, but she did not feel like a hero at all.

She liked to watch the people who entered the Wizarding World via the small, walled courtyard behind the pub. During the week, at the time between breakfast and lunch, there were few enough people coming. One of them was a small boy with a pointed face, worn Muggle clothes, and hair in that undefined color that ranged somewhere between brown and blond. His face was carefully composed, only his blue eyes glared at the world with an angry stare, as if he expected an insult from it. An elderly witch who'd probably come for a weekend shopping gave him a smile, but he stared back as if to say "don't look at me." The witch turned away, but that did not seem to satisfy the boy. His eyes wandered through the whole room, searching it, trying to pierce the shadows back behind the bar, willing it to expose its every secret. There was something demanding, commanding about the manner he carried himself.

When the room did not obey his silent command, or maybe when he realized there were, indeed, no secrets at all in this pub, he began to explore the taproom carefully. He did not seem curious in the way other children of his age might be, nor did he seem afraid. It was as if he was taking something back that had always been his, making sure it had not been damaged during the time of his absence.

When he was done he sat down on a chair out of the line of sight, on a chair that was only ever occupied by a woman named Luna Lovegood-Scamander. It was different from the other chairs, made of a darker wood and carved into strange shapes. It was not, by any means, a throne, but the boy sat at it as if it were.

Suddenly, apparently coming out of nowhere, a woman with a pink face and long blond hair, pulled back in a braid, was standing in front of him. "May I help you?" she asked in a kind voice.

The boy stared at her, startled, but quickly regaining his composure. "Who are you?" he demanded.

The witch only smiled at his harsh tone. "I'm Hannah Longbottom," she replied. "I'm the owner of this pub. Now, would you please tell me your name?"

The boy hesitated, glaring at Hannah Longbottom. She still smiled, in a motherly, absolutely sincere way. To his own surprise, the boy blushed faintly. "My name is Smith," he replied. "Richard Smith."

"That's a nice name," Mrs. Longbottom said.

Richards face darkened and a door seemed to close behind his eyes, but then he realized that Mrs. Longbottom had not been making fun of him. "I don't like it," he gave back flatly.

"Where are you headed to?" Mrs. Longbottom asked.

Richard hesitated once again. He was not quite sure where he was going, but he had no intention of showing that. "That's none of your business," he answered sharply, fastening his grip at the heavy envelope in his hand. This was his trophy, his proof that it had not all been a dream when the strange old lady with the square glasses and the tight bun had told him he was different, he was a wizard. This was his ticket to a new life, where people would recognize what he was worth. He would make them recognize it.

"Ah," Mrs. Longbottom said. "Hogwarts. Come to get your school supplies? Where are your parents at?"

"Don't have any," the boys snapped. That wasn't the truth, but as good as the truth. He wasn't going to tell this complete stranger about his dad, about the prison, or his mother, who'd promised once again that this would be the last time she went to rehab, that this time she'd quit for good. Richard hadn't believed her. He'd heard it too often. His parents hadn't been any help to him, ever. They they couldn't pay for his new school, they hadn't even brought him here.

"I see," Hannah Longbottom muttered. She suddenly looked thoughtful. "Is this your first trip to Diagon Alley?"

Since Richard didn't want to risk being caught lying, he told the truth this time. "It is," he gave back. It never paid to tell a lie that could be detected so easily.

"Do you know how to get there?" Mrs. Longbottom asked.

Richard remembered very well what the strange woman who had come to see him had said about that. "Sure," he gave back. "Just tap the third stone up second across from the cherry tree." But he wasn't quite as sure once he had said it. It did sound rather weird, now that he'd spoken it aloud.

Mrs. Longbottom seemed to sense his qualms, even though he tried to hide them. "Would you like me to come with you?"

"No," he replied at once. "I don't need help." He really didn't need help. He'd made it this far, hadn't he? Finding a street couldn't be that hard, could it? He suddenly felt it was time to leave, before he could question himself any further. He hadn't taken the help of that strange witch with the square glasses, and she had been a professor, after all. He most certainly wasn't going to take help from a barkeeper.

Before he jumped to his feet, he let his gaze wander through the room, so that he wouldn't walk off into the wrong direction. He found the back door easily and, deciding that maybe he could afford some politeness, he said: "Have a good day, Mrs. Longbottom." He did not say "don't follow me," but his voice implied it.

Mrs. Longbottom, however, did not seem to have mastered the fine arts of subtlety, for she came along as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It made Richard wonder whether maybe she didn't have anything else to do than watch the people who entered Diagon Alley through her pub. Maybe she was some sort of watchdog for that "Ministry of Magic" the professor with the bun had said would take action if he was to use magic in front of Muggles.

Inside the small, walled courtyard behind the pub, Richard hesitated. There was the cherry tree he'd been told about, surrounded by well-groomed flower beds. Through the middle led a narrow, diligently harked pathway, which stopped in front of the wall, right next to the cherry tree. This little, well, _park_, looked much more like the famous entry to a secret land then the grubby front side of the pub had, and for the first time since he had made contact with the Wizarding World, Richard felt a tiny bit awed and his self-confidence quivered for just a second. He noticed that except for the cherry tree he did not recognize a single one of the flowers and plants, and while he was still looking, he thought one of them moved.

Mrs. Longbottom smiled, passed by him and tapped a stone. In front of the surprised Richard, a wide archway opened itself where the wall had been just a moment ago, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," Mrs. Longbottom said, "to Diagon Alley."

Richard blinked, then he regained his composure. "Thank you," he gave back, looking sullen. He didn't need her help, and he would have asked in case he had wanted it. He hated having grown-ups interfere with his affairs. They always made a mess of it. Resolutely, he stepped through the arch and onto the street, not looking back to see the arch close behind him.

Mrs. Longbottom shook her head, deeply in thought. For a moment she let her gaze wander across the patches of flowers and plants her husband, who had been a professor for a couple of years at Hogwarts, had planted here. He was already in Hogwarts, for the school year would start soon, and he liked to be prepared. This year was going to be hard enough anyway: It was going to be the year James Potter the Second joined Fred Weasley the Second at the school, and there was not a single teacher at Hogwarts who was looking forward to it without a hint of dread.

After a while, Mrs. Longbottom went back inside the now empty pub, where she accioed a sheet of parchment and a quill. _"Dear Neville,"_ she began her letter, and then she wrote down everything she had learned about Richard Smith from his words and all she had learned about him by the things he had not said, which was a lot more.

Hannah Longbottom liked to watch the people who entered the Wizarding World via the small, walled courtyard behind the pub for a reason. During her not so long life, she had learned about three different boys who had entered the Wizarding World, leaving behind a life so horrible she could barely imagine. One of them, who became a friend of hers, had gone through great hardships to become a hero, one of the greatest wizards the Wizarding World had ever seen. One of them, who had been her teacher, had become cold and bitter, and no one had ever recognized what amazing talents he could have offered, until it had been too late. One of them, the monster she had helped to fight during the Battle of Hogwarts, had become the most dreaded, most dangerous, and most deadly man the world had ever seen, and yet it could have all been different, if someone had just tried to make that difference early enough in that life, if he had not boarded the train to Hogwarts all alone. It was amazing how much of a difference a simple letter could make.

Hannah Longbottom would not allow history to repeat itself. Finishing the first one, she accioed another sheet of parchment, and started another letter. _"Dear Ginny, dear Harry,"_ this one began, and again she wrote down about Richard Smith, only in slightly different wordings.

And while the boy went through Diagon Alley, looking longingly at all the things he couldn't buy but would have liked to, calculating the strange money he'd been given so that he could at least get the things he needed to, Hannah Longbottom saw to it that he would not board the Hogwarts express alone. Someone would know about him when he reached the station, and someone at Hogwarts would be waiting for him. And later, when he came back from his shopping tour, someone would ask him how his day had been.

History would not repeat itself.


	2. The Marvelous Marauder's Map

Chapter Two: The Marvelous Marauder's Map

If one was to walk down the street Grimmauld Place, London, he would see big houses with dirty front sides, a few of them unoccupied, some of them with broken windows, others with rubbish on the front stairs, all of them old and dark-looking. One also might notice, if he did linger despite the unwelcoming surroundings, that number eleven was followed directly by number thirteen. There seemed to be no number twelve, since the owner, a certain Harry James Potter, had never bothered to lift the enchantment the fore-owners had placed upon the building. At times it was quite useful to have a house that could not be seen, especially if one was followed by an army of journalists trying to get an interview.

For some people though, a number twelve, Grimmauld Place, did exist. Many of them had their place along the special table at the Leaky Cauldron. When they walked down the street, they saw a grand old building, proudly outshining the run-down neighbors, more a mansion than a house. The door was black with a silver door knocker in the form of a serpent, glittering polished in the light of the street lamps. The windows were high, and some of them appeared to have been widened rather recently, but the work had been done to fit the majestic style of the rest of the front side. There was a welcoming light behind the curtains.

In a room upstairs, James Potter the Second, a boy with unruly black hair, hazel eyes and knobbly knees, was doing some last-minute packing for Hogwarts. Most of his things – all his robes, his books and his other supplies for class – he had packed earlier, helped by his mother, even though he had tried to explain that he didn't need help. He suspected she had just tried to make sure he wouldn't bring anything he wasn't allowed to bring, like a Fanged Frisbee or a Ever-Bashing Boomerang. As if he was interested in one of those… There were other things banned though, which bothered him more. For example, he wouldn't be allowed his broom, as he would be a first year, and so far, all his attempts to nick his father's Invisibility Cloak had only brought him into trouble.

James slumped onto the bed while listening very carefully to the sounds within the house. He was supposed to sleep, but how could he sleep the night before he went to school? His gaze wandered through the room. It was decorated in red and gold, the colors of Gryffindor house. He just knew he was going to be there. He had to!

He sighed. The desk next to the window was almost empty now, because his mother had somehow gotten the idea that his room should be cleaned up when he left for Hogwarts. All his books – at least those he didn't take – were filed into the shelves. It didn't look right that way. There should be clothes dropped on the floor, comics, half a chess set mixed with exploding snap cards, and a few fake wands from Uncle George. It just wasn't right that his room was that tidy, that neat. It looked almost like his little brothers room, only that Al's room wasn't red and gold.

James heard a door close one floor down, and at once he was at his feet. He could hear his father walk downstairs, hopefully towards the kitchen, maybe to the living room. James opened his door and hesitated on the hall. There was a loud crack downstairs and then he could faintly hear a penetrating voice asking: "Would Master like some tea?"

So his father was in the living room. Darn. Still, it was now or never. James quickly looked upstairs, but his brother Al's door was tightly shut, as was Lily's, his sister. They were probably both sulking, since they were not going to Hogwarts tomorrow. James allowed himself a smug smile. It was great to be the oldest.

As quietly as he could, James glided down the stairs. He was headed for his father's study. In fact, he was going to be a naughty boy. He couldn't help it.

A couple of weeks ago he had witnessed a scene that wouldn't let him rest anymore. He had been at a get-together at the Leaky Cauldron when he had seen his cousin Teddy Lupin hand over a piece of parchment to his father. "I don't need this any longer," Teddy had said to Harry Potter, his godfather. Then he had asked: "Are you going to give it to James?"

At that point, James had quickly ducked out of sight, curious what his father would say. Grinning, Harry Potter had answered: "I don't think it's a good idea to give James the Marauder's Map. He and Fred are going to cause enough mayhem at Hogwarts without it."

And James had sat there, dumbfounded. Of course he had known about the Marauder's Map, that glorious design of his grandfather's and grandfather's friends', the four legendary marauders. Of course he had heard the stories, the tales from his father's adventures with that map, of course he had known how much help it had been in defeating the Dark Lord Voldemort, and what genuine tricks his uncle George and his dead brother Fred had planned and put into action, always aided by the marvelous Marauder's Map.

But no one, not anyone, had ever told James that it still existed! He had believed it lost in the Second War, destroyed, possibly burned during the Battle of Hogwarts! Nobody had ever cared to tell him that it had been with Teddy Lupin for all those years. He had felt just a tiny bit betrayed once he had finally found out. Only when he had thought about it in his room for quite some time he had acknowledged that nobody had a higher claim on the map than Theodore Lupin, who had never met his father Remus Lupin, the last one of the Marauders, who had died at the Battle of Hogwarts. After all James had heard about the map, it had taken on the personalities of its forgers, making it possible in a very limited form to communicate with them. Sure it had been a very valuable heirloom to Teddy.

But now he had given it back to James' Dad, who had once gotten it from Fred and George Weasley, not knowing what it really was and where it came from. Why had Teddy done so, if not for James to get it one day? What use had his Dad of it, who only visited Hogwarts a few times each year to talk during Defense against the Dark Arts classes?

James had looked out for it very carefully during the last days, and now he was sure he knew where it was: In the second drawer of his father's desk. So here he was, at the bottom step of the stairway, carefully glancing around the corner into the living room, hoping, praying that no one was looking his direction. His parents both had turned their backs on him, and they seemed to stare down into the fireplace.

"Are you sure about this boy, Hannah?" Ginny, his mother, was just asking.

James recognized Hannah Longbottom's voice as she replied: "He was all alone, and he seemed quite bitter. I just thought I'd let you know, so that you can look out for him when you get to the platform. He tried not to show it, but I could feel he was a bit scared when he was in the courtyard."

"I can imagine," Harry said. "I felt uncomfortable myself when I didn't know how to get to platform nine and three quarters."

"It can't hurt if we look out for him," Ginny agreed. "Just to be… well… safe."

There was a meaningful silence within the living room, then Hannah said: "As I wrote to you, his hair was dark blonde, and his eyes were gray. He should be easy to recognize from the way he acted."

James wondered who they were talking about, but he didn't have time to linger. It sounded like they were talking about some new student Hannah Longbottom had met in advance. It wouldn't be the first. Hannah enjoyed watching people far too much, in James' opinion. After five years of practice in the Leaky Cauldron, she had become too good a judge of what people were up to. She tended to notice things.

In a swift movement James crossed the doorway and into the shadows in front of his father's study. For a moment he was certain that the huge, bulging eyes of the ancient house elf Kreacher had noticed him. He held his breath, waiting, but nothing happened. After a second he dared breathing again and fished for a hairpin within his pockets. His father's study was locked, and he wasn't allowed magic to open it, but he had very carefully read the book his uncle George had written, _One-hundred muggle-tricks every wizard ought to know_, a book that described in great detail how to make knots that wouldn't loosen, how to loosen knots tied with magic, and also how to open a door without magic. James had practiced that last trick for quite some time, and he managed to open his Dad's door almost soundlessly.

His heart was beating wildly as he slipped through the door. There was the desk, there were the drawers. Luckily, those weren't locked. Slowly, to avoid any sound, James opened them. He was horribly aware of his parents just behind the wall, still talking to Hannah Longbottom about whatever boy concerned her. It was strange enough that she was worried. Usually she wasn't one to fret over things.

Finally, the drawer was open, and there it was: A piece of old, battered parchment nobody would look twice at if he didn't know what treasure he held in hands. James stared at it for a second, than snatched it quickly, closed the drawer – careful again – and left the room. Closing the door was almost harder than opening it, but after a moment the lock snapped in. James flew up the stairs as if he had wings underneath his feet, and was finally save inside his room. He fell onto the bed, the Marauder's Map pressed to his chest.

He'd done it! He'd gotten it!

A rush of triumph flushed his cheeks and a wide grin appeared on his face. This made up twice for the broom he wasn't allowed to bring. This made up for everything! He wouldn't even need an Invisibility Cloak, now that he had access to all secret passages, and sure Fred would let him borrow his broom once in a while, if he could get the Marauder's Map in return.

James had to bite his fist to stifle his laughter as he thought of Fred's face when he heard what wonderful treasure James had gotten them… This would be their year. Hogwarts hadn't seen any true marauders since Fred and George Weasley had left the school in their legendary defiance of High Inquisitor Umbrigde, more than twenty years ago. It was more than time somebody seized that place, and now James felt quite up to it. He all but regretted that there would be no High Inquisitor they could fight…

Downstairs, Harry Potter had finished his chat with Hannah Longbottom and was having a second cup of tea. There was a comfortable silence between him and his wife Ginny, filled by the cracks from the fireplace. It was suddenly broken by the piercing voice of Kreacher the house elf.

"Mr. Potter, Sir, Kreacher is sorry to interrupt you," the old elf said.

"What is it, Kreacher?", Harry asked, smiling.

"Kreacher is worried, Sir," the house elf replied. "Kreacher seen young Master James slip into Master's room and take something away, Master."

Harry Potter still smiled. "What was it he took, Kreacher?"

"Kreacher does not know," the old elf gave back. "Kreacher only seen old parchment."

"It's nothing to worry about then," Harry said. "But thank you for informing me, Kreacher."

The house elf bowed deeply, his nose almost touching the ground. "Kreacher is happy to serve, Master," he said, and vanished with a loud crack.

Harry Potter looked up to face his wife, and they both grinned.

"I've been wondering whether he'd take it," Ginny said. "Maybe we should warn Neville?"

"I bet he'll find out quickly enough," Harry replied.


	3. Off to Hogwarts

Off to Hogwarts

The railway station of Kings Cross seemed quite crowded to Richard Smith on that special day, but he tried to look indifferent. Maybe it was always that way, he would not know, since it was his first time there. He had taken an early train to London and lingered now, looking around the station carefully. He felt small somehow, vulnerable, and he did not like that feeling at all. He should be happy, ecstatic, that he finally left behind the shabby life in the poorest parts of London, the old school, the old bullies, but he was not. He was afraid. This was his first time to leave London, and he had no idea where he was going, although he had spent a lot of time during his visit in Diagon Alley reading a book named "Hogwarts, a History".

Richard squared his shoulders and moved on, towards the platforms nine and ten, as he had been told by the professor with the tight bun. Professor McGonagall, he reminded himself. He had to remember the name. She was headmistress after all.

There was the barrier between the two platforms. Walk quickly towards it, he remembered. He had even written down the words, everything he had been told, when he had been alone in his tiny room. There would be no mistakes.

He checked the façade of his face in the reflection of a window and was satisfied with what he saw. Nobody who did not know him well would have guessed how anxious he was, and he had never met anybody who had taken the time to get to know him. He quite liked the air of disregard that surrounded him. He had spent hours in front of the old bathroom mirror practicing exactly that expression of cool indifference, until it was perfect. He would practice magic the same way.

When he noticed that he was drawing out the moment before he had to cross the barrier to Platform nine and three-quarters, he pulled himself up, and resolutely stepped forward. While he looked around to make sure no Muggle was watching him – as he had been told by professor McGonagall – he noticed a family of five, approaching the same platform. At least he was quite sure they were headed for platform nine and three-quarters, since the father was pushing a luggage cart, with an owl on top of a huge trunk. The two boys who followed him looked very much like him, only that the older one had brown eyes instead of green. The same similarity applied to the mother and their only daughter: both had red hair and blue eyes.

Richard decided that it couldn't hurt to watch these wizards before he passed the barrier himself. The girl, youngest of the group, suddenly escaped he mother's hand, looked quickly right and left, ran towards the barrier – and was gone. Just as the professor had said.

"I'll get her!" the oldest boy called out, and followed his sister just as quickly, laughing excitedly.

Richard felt a sting of envy. At least, this should not be hard, if even the little girl could do it. She looked just the kind of wealthy girlie he would have screwed money from, back at the old school. He watched the remaining three of the family. The father shook his head, muttering "if a Muggle had seen that…", and checked before he started moving the large trunk on the cart. At the same moment, the red-haired mother turned towards Richard, and caught him staring.

"May I help you?" she asked in a friendly voice.

Richard eyed her, and considered acting as if he had not heard her, but then he shook his head. "I'm just off to Hogwarts," he replied, as if it was no big deal.

"Well, why don't we go together then?" she asked. "We'll be quicker and less noticeable for the Muggles."

Richard hesitated, but then he said: "All right."

It did make sense what she'd said... kind of, he supposed. At least Richard could see why secrecy was so important for wizards. He wouldn't even want his own parents to know about magic. They had never seen how special he really was.

Richard did feel quite awkward when he walked along with the red-haired woman. But at least he would not be the only one looking foolish if they crashed into that barrier between the platforms nine and ten.

We're not going to crash, he told himself. We're not going to, we are…

Through. Just like that.

Richard stopped and stared. There was a huge steam engine like from another century, scarlet red, waiting next to a platform crowded with people. Some of them looked just as confused as Richard felt – only that he never lost his composure like that – others were dressed rather strange, as if they were not used to normal clothing – Muggle clothing, Richard corrected himself. Many had owls or cats with them, and once again Richard hated being poor. It would have been so great to have his own owl sitting on top of his trunk! Of course, he would have taken a cat as well, but he had nothing.

Richard moved forward towards the train before the woman he had accompanied through the gate to the Wizarding World could say anything. He could not see the boy and the girl who had passed before him, but he really did not care. If he hurried he might be able to catch a compartment at the train all by himself.

And there it finally was, the wave of excitement he had been waiting for all morning. He had made it. He was there, right where he belonged: at station nine and three-quarters, about to board the train that would carry him away from the Muggle world. Who cared whether he was poor now? He might not have fancy clothes, but he would show them, show them all! No matter what he would go to, it had to be better than what he had left behind.

Finding an empty compartment was easy, but getting his trunk onto the train turned out to be quite hard.

"Here, let me lend you a hand."

Richard stared. An older boy was standing in front of him, a boy with neon green hair that stood of into every directions. With his quite handsome face he looked like a character from some Japanese Manga. He wore a badge saying "head boy" pinned to his robes, and when he noticed Richard staring, he asked: "Don't like the color?"

At these words his hair grew a little longer and changed into scarlet red.

Richard only caught himself when the boy heaved his trunk up and onto the train. "Now, which compartment?" he asked.

"That one," Richard pointed out quickly, regaining his self control. He watched as the head boy stored the trunk in a corner of the compartment, and just in time realized that this boy might be somebody he ought to be polite to. Being on good terms with the head boy might come in handy later.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

"Anytime," the head boy gave back. "I'm Theodore Lupin."

"Richard Smith. Thanks again," Richard said, shaking the hand Lupin had offered. It felt good, shaking hands with a boy at least six years older than himself as if they were equals. He watched the head boy leave, his hair changing from red to blue, shortening again. Curious, Richard peeked through the window to watch.

Outside on the platform more than a dozen red-heads had gathered into a group, swallowing the family Richard had followed through the barrier, and taking in the head boy as well. The group was getting a great deal of attention from the other people on the platform, which didn't surprise Richard. They were laughing together, hugging each other, shaking hands, and in the case of two young boys, argued. Apparently, they were all related.

Richard's forehead furrowed. Were wizards always that noisy?

He eyed the crowd watching the red-headed group, trying to judge from their expressions, and to his surprise he noticed that the man with the three children was getting by far the most attention. That seemed odd to Richard, for the man stood quite calmly in the middle of the group, one arm around his wife's waste, on the other hand the younger one of his sons. There was nothing special about him. Richard watched the group closer. The most flashy of them was probably the head boy with the color-changing hair – it was pink now – or the beautiful blonde girl at his side, who even outshined her mother at the side of a tall man with long red hair and horrible scars all over his face. Richard shook his head in confusion. Basically everybody within that group was more eye-catching than the calm man with the black hair. Or was that why everybody was staring at him? Was being _normal_ so strange in the Wizarding World?

But now that Richard looked closer, the stranger did not exactly look normal anymore. Even relaxed as he stood now, there was something alert about the manner he carried himself.

The man laughed about something a very tall red-head with freckles had just said, and then the huge scarlet engine whistled loudly. For a moment the whole group vanished in a cloud of smoke. When Richard could see clearly again, the gathering had thinned. Of the eight red-headed children a boys and two girls were just boarding the train, followed by the gorgeous blonde, Theodore Lupin, who helped her up the steps, and the black haired boy after whom Richard had crossed the barrier. Last was a boy with darker skin on which still freckles were visible.

Richard moved away from the window before his mother could catch him staring again, as she now turned to wave good-bye to her oldest son on the train. The whistle blew again and the train started moving, slowly first, then faster and faster. Soon the platform was far behind them.

Grinning happily to himself, Richard pulled out one of his school books from the trunk, together with his wand, by far his most valuable possession. Getting a new wand had used up most of the money he had been given from the Hogwarts Funds for students who otherwise did not have the money to attend, but Richard had calculated carefully. By getting everything else he needed second hand he had been able to afford a new one, for it had been clear to him that a good wand was the key to becoming a powerful wizard. His was made of beech, unyielding and 12 inches long, with a core made of a griffin's feather, and he was very proud of it.

With a feeling of relief and new-gained freedom he opened his book and reread a passage he wasn't sure he'd understood correctly. He had read all of his school books during the summer, for more than one reason. First, there had not been anything else for him to do, second he wanted to be prepared as best as possible and third some of the books had actually been quite interesting.

He had only read a few pages of "A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration" when the door opened. The boy with the unruly black hair he had watched earlier entered, followed by the boy with the freckles. They were both grinning.

"This looks free, isn't it?" the boy with the unruly hair said, and without waiting for Richard's reply, he heaved his trunk in. "I'm James," he introduced himself. "James Potter."

The way he said the last words indicated that he was waiting for some kind of reaction from Richard, who shrugged and coolly replied: "Pleasant. Richard Smith." To get it over with he looked at the second boy, the darker one with the freckles, who grinned even wider and said: "Fred Weasley, the Second."

The boys seated themselves, bustling about, while Richard returned to his book. Now that he had left the Muggle World, surely he was allowed to use magic? He had a box of matches with himself and was quite eager to try whether he had understood all the instructions correctly.

"Wanna play Exploding Snap, Richard?" Fred Weasley the second suddenly asked.

"No, thank you," Richard gave back, annoyed. He had no clue what "Exploding Snap" was supposed to be, but since it appeared to be a game it could not be that important. He pulled out his wand, picked a match from his box, and began to practice his first spell.


	4. On the Train

Chapter Four: On the Train

James could not help but to glance ever so often over to the strange boy, who had just succeeded in turning his match silver and pointed. He wondered whether this was the Richard Hannah Longbottom had talked to his parents about, but he didn't know how to ask. There was something weird about the boy, something James could not quite name, something more than just the unfriendliness with what Richard had greeted them. Why was he practicing spells before they had even reached Hogwarts?

And why did he have to sit it in their compartment? James wanted to show Fred the Marauder's Map so badly, it almost hurt, but he did not want to do it in front of another student. This was going to be their big secret.

But that was not what bothered James the most.

Over the years, James Potter the Second had gotten used to the attention he received wherever he came. Being Harry Potter's oldest son meant a certain amount of fame he had never earned but that had been thrust upon him never the less. He liked that. He liked the look on people's faces when they recognized his name, and even more he liked it when there was awe mixed in with that recognizing him. It meant he was special. He also enjoyed to hear that he looked exactly like his grandfather, James Potter the First, and he was most determined to live up to his name: James Sirius Potter.

But the strange boy had not recognized his name, or if he had, he hadn't give a sign of it. When James glanced over to him again, he realized that he could not read anything in the boys face. It was like a blank wall. Even concentrating at the spells as he was, Richard still thought of keeping his face smooth.

He _was_ concentrating, wasn't he?

"Hey, Richard," James called out, frustrated.

Richard looked up slowly, disappointing James, who had hoped to startle him.

"Where're you from?" James asked, when the hard blue eyes met his own brown ones.

Richard held his gaze a second longer, until James quickly looked away, before he replied: "I'm from London."

"Me too," James said, and tried to match Richard's indifference. But it still bothered him. He decided to have one last try, and with a short movement of his head he gave Fred a sign. "My father is Harry Potter," he mentioned and watched Richard closely, knowing that his best friend did the same thing from a different angle.

"Is he," Richard acknowledged coolly, adding: "I've read about him."

He reached into his bag and pulled out the book "Hogwarts: A History."

Of course, James thought, inwardly rolling his eyes. It had been compulsory for every Muggleborn student since a few years to read the book, as it was supposed to help them integrate into the Wizarding society. James' aunt Hermione Weasley herself had added chapters about the Battle of Hogwarts at the end, but James had never read it.

Of course Mr.-practice-spells-before-school-starts-Richard would have read it. But didn't he understand? Didn't it mean anything to him? Fred rolled his eyes and mouthed the word "jerk", and with that they returned to their game.

Fred is right, James thought. Smith must be a bit retarded.

Richard was glad when he finally felt that both boys averted their interest from him. He hated being watched like some kind of circus clown. What did that James boy think he was, an idiot who would kiss his boots because his father was famous? Richard knew boys like that, but he was not going to admire James for being born.

Usually, Richard would have shown James all the distaste and disdain he held for boys who grew up getting everything they wanted. But he had indeed read about famous Harry Potter. His name had been all over the headlines in the wizard newspaper "The Daily Prophet". Head of Aurordepartment he was, a catcher of Dark Wizards, a kind of police man. And Richard knew about police men. They had taken his father to prison, and once his mother too, and they had never been nice to him either. They had power, and they liked to make others know they had power.

"Bad boy," they had called him, when he had clung to his mother, four years old, like he was some kind of dog, and a bad boy he had been all through school.

He would not be a bad boy at Hogwarts. He would start new there, where nobody knew him, and one day he would be the one in power and no policeman would dare threaten him. He would not need the knife he had been given for his eleventh birthday by a friend of his father, not when he had a wand. He would only keep it until he knew how to use his wand properly.

But that was nothing the son of dark wizard catcher Harry Potter needed to know, and so he would never hear of it. Richard was good at keeping secrets.

When he was certain that neither Potter nor Weasley were listening, he flipped through the pages of "Hogwarts: A History", until he reached the chapters that had been added at the end. As much as he could gather from them about that Hero Potter, he had not been one to follow the rules to closely. That was bad. Policemen who stuck with the law were bad enough, but worst were those who made their own rules, which came usually down to: It is not a bad thing as long as _I'm_ doing the bashing. But don't you ever try it.

Those policemen tended to bent and break the law until it was some kind of grotesque excuse for what it should be, but they would punish even the most trifle offence with full force.

No, he most certainly didn't want to get in trouble with a man like that.

Richard closed his book and returned to the spell he had been practicing. Mumbling the words under his breath, it still took him numerous attempts to turn a single match into a needle, which made him wondering whether the spell would work better if he spoke it aloud. But that did not make sense. The magic was not within the words, but within himself. He had to concentrate harder, that was all.

He lowered his book and wand for a moment and glanced out of the window. The landscape outside turned wilder and wilder with every mile they travelled north. A faint smile touched Richard's lips. He enjoyed the view. He had always dreamed of living outside of town, out in the open country, where there were less crimes for his father to commit and less drugs for his mother to take and less policemen to trouble them, but mostly had he dreamed of being on his own.

When he returned to his magic, he was focused completely on the little match. He knew he was able to do this, for he had done magic – far bigger magic than this – before he had even known that he was a wizard. Sometimes he had just _willed_ things to happen, as when he had been chased by older bullies. He had made them hurt, and they had never understood how. It had felt good.

Richard remembered the feeling, and when he picked a new match, hissing the spell just barely audible, it returned to him. The match turned silvery and pointed at his will, without resisting, forming a perfect needle. Triumph flushed his cheeks. This was it. This he had to remember whenever he had difficulties casting a spell. There was nothing he could not do.

When he looked up again, he met James' gaze for a second. At once he smoothed out his face, cursing himself. He must not forget that he was not alone in the compartment. Potter looked away quickly, winking at his friend. The two of them communicated without as much as a word. It was annoying. Richard prided himself as being good at reading people, but these two knew each other too well. Their gestures were too little for him to catch their meaning, though it was clear that right now they were talking about him.

James was very careful not to be caught staring again. The look on Richard's face when he had succeeded in turning the match into a needle had almost been frightening. And how quickly he had succeeded! James had heard that only very few students managed a transformation at their first attempt. It was supposed to be a very difficult kind of magic that needed lots of practicing, and Richard had been successful after less than two hours, without a teacher guiding him. It was almost scary.

One look in Fred's direction told him, that his older friend was just as impressed as he was himself, and that annoyed him even more, because it meant that Richard was indeed extraordinary. But then Fred mouthed "beginner's luck," and James nodded. Of course, that had to be it. Nothing unusual at all.

Still… Once they had reached Hogwarts he would use the Marauder's Map to find an empty room and ask Fred to teach him some spells. He had heard too many stories about how brilliant his grandfather had been at Transfiguration to be beaten by some little git.

If it hadn't been for Richard, he'd have shown the map to Fred the moment they had boarded the train. This way it seemed better to be careful, though he could barely hold back his huge secret. How Fred would look when he heard… when he saw… The map had to be almost as much an heirloom to him as it was to James, as Fred's father George has once used it to play pranks with his dead twin brother, Fred Weasley the first.

He would have to wait until they reached Hogwarts.

Fred grinned and asked: "Nervous about the sorting?"

"Nah," James said, shrugging. "Why should I? I'm gonna be Gryffindor. Or do you think the hat would put _me_ into Slytherin?"

Fred laughed. "I know somebody who might belong there," he replied, winking.

Richard would have had to be either deaf or stupid not to understand that the two were talking about him, and he was neither. Still he kept quiet and did not let them see that he was listening to their chatter. That James-boy was not quite as relaxed about the sorting as he wanted to appear, that much Richard understood. It did seem to be highly important to him that he was not sorted into Slytherin.

From _Hogwarts: A History_ Richard knew about the four houses of Hogwarts, and that after the Second War people had wanted to close them all. Richard could see why. The weak ones had always feared the powerful ones, and especially Slytherin seemed to be the house where the powerful and the ambitious gathered. Potter would not fit in there, that much was obvious.

But Richard hoped he himself would not end up there either, even though he did fit in with the mighty and the cunning. He feared being sorted into Slytherin would stigmatize him, as his parents reputation had stigmatized him at his old home.

Richard's hopes were low, though. He was used to the worst that could possible happen.

If someone had given him a choice, he would have chosen Ravenclaw. Nobody ever seemed to care much about Ravenclaws, who had not entered any war as readily as Gryffindors, and he was certain that he did not fit into Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw would be good for him, Richard was certain of that. Nobody would be surprised about an exceptionally bright, hard working student in Ravenclaw. Nobody would care. He would be left alone and earn fame, and later power. If it was his choice.

Fred and James both bought loads of sweets when the cart passed by, while Richard saved what little money he had. He had made himself some sandwiches at home, and did not pay much attention to the other boys, who seemed to have great fun eating little bean-shaped sweets and chocolate in the form of frogs.

"Oh not again!" Fred Weasley suddenly called out. "Look what I got, James! I got your father again, and I must have half a dozen of him soon!"

James laughed. "Yeah, I know. Uncle Ron thinks it's funny. He says it's just as it used to be with Dumbledore."

Fred turned around. "Hey, Richard, do you collect?"

"No, I don't," Richard replied coldly.

"You're muggleborn, aren't you?" Fred continued, and did not even wait for an answer. "Here, you can have it. Learn something from it."

Fred and James laughed.

Richard caught the card and looked at it carefully, as soon as the two were distracted again. It was a small card with a picture on it, moving, as all pictures in the Wizarding world.

_Harry Potter,_ the text read.

_The Boy Who Lived, only known survivor of the Avada Ke__davra curse and conqueror of Lord Voldemort, also known as Tom Riddle. Harry Potter joined the reshuffled Auror Department under Kingsley Shacklebolt at age 17, rising to become Head of said department in 2007. _

So this was famous Harry Potter. The picture showed a rather young man with black hair and green eyes. He smiled at Richard, winked, and then was gone. The way he moved resembled exactly the way James' father had moved on the platform.

So it is true, Richard thought.


	5. What you need, not what you want

Chapter Five: What you Need, not what you Want

As the shadows outside grew longer and the sun moved towards the western horizon, Richard grew excited. He was almost there, at his new home. James seemed to feel similar, as his chatter became louder and faster the further north the train moved. He and Fred were having an animated discussion about some game called "Quidditch" that seemed to be highly important to them. Richard listened only with half an ear, eavesdropping just out of habit. He found it useful to know what happened around him.

"I think we better get changed now," Fred said after a while. "We're gonna reach Hogwarts soon."

James grinned widely. "Great," he said. "Can't wait for it."

Richard watched as the two boys pulled out shiny black robes from their trunks, and felt quite shabby when he dressed in his own, second hand school uniform. He tried not to let it bother him, but it did quite a bit. He should not have been forced to buy old robes. One day his clothes would be just as good, no, better, than anyone else's. No hat or Slytherin house would stop him.

Outside of the compartment, people kept running up and down the corridor, laughing and talking loudly. Richard tried to ignore the noise as he prepared himself for leaving the train. His wand was safely tucked away in his pocket, all his books returned to the trunk, and he stared out through the window until there was an announcement: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to school separately."

As soon as the train slowed down in sight of a small village, James and Fred joined the crowd on the corridor. Richard stayed behind, watching the other students.

As far as he could tell, the young wizards were no different from any Muggle of their age. Some of them looked excited, others as if they were already homesick, several laughed, many looked nervous and one or two even seemed to be scared, the same feelings that were connected with the start of a new term at any normal school. Richard's face betrayed nothing of his feelings, but his heart was swollen with a great joy. He could guess their little fears, their worries of not being accepted, of failing a class, of disappointing their parents, he shared many of their hopes and wishes – friends, good marks, acceptance – but he knew that they lacked the determination he had, his patience, his intellect, his power and his vigilance. They would be just as easy to impress and maybe frightened as the students in his old school had been.

Richard forced his features into a mixture of nervousness and happiness that was visible on most faces. A moment later the train came to a halt.

The little village of Hogsmeade and the station belonging to it could have come from a postcard. In the still night of late summer it looked almost to peaceful to be real. Of course, the quiet only lasted until with a loud whistle of the engine the doors of the train opened, students spilling out onto the single platform. James and Fred pushed their way through to the doors, and Richard followed before students could block the way again. It was a very comfortable way of getting through the crowd, until they reached the exit of the station.

A giant of a man stood waiting there, lifting a big lamp.

"Hey, Hagrid!" Fred greeted him from behind, and when the giant turned to look at him, Fred moved with him, staying behind the broad back. "See ya at the feast, James!" Fred laughed. "Greet the giant squid for me," he added, and was gone.

"Fred Weasley!" the giant grumbled in a booming voice, though he could not have seen Fred, and then returned his attention to the crowd. "Firs' years!" he called. "Firs' years over here! C'mon, follow me, firs' years! Over here! Anyone left behind? Careful, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Richard, James and the other new students followed the giant down a narrow path that led in many slopes through thick forest. There was little talk on the way, as they all had to direct all their attention towards walking. The path was slippery, with malicious roots to stumble about, and Hagrid's lamp gave scarce light. Richard looked down towards his feet to give his eyes a chance to adjust to the darkness, which helped a little.

"Jus' round this bend here and yeh'll get yer firs sight o' Hogwarts," Hagrid suddenly called over his shoulder, causing a few children to jerk. Richard felt his heart speeding up.

And there it was: A castle as from a fairytale, windows alight with thousands of little stars, sat atop a high mountain, its many towers reaching up into the sky. Beneath it there was a great lake, black in the darkness, reflecting only the stars and the lights from the castle.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called the staring students back into present. Only now Richard noticed the little fleet of boats at the shore. He followed James down the last slope and managed not to stumble. A boy and a girl followed them into their boat.

"Hi there," the girl said, smiling shyly, as she straightened out her robes.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, before any of them could say something. "Right then – Of ye go!"

At his command, the boats began to move all by themselves over the lake that was flat like a black mirror. No breeze disturbed the calm surface as they sailed towards the great castle.

"It's beautiful," the girl whispered, and blushed, when the three boys turned to look at her. She was small and slender, with a face like porcelain, appearing almost breakable. When no one else commented her words, Richard looked back to the castle and said: "You're right."

The girl smiled at Richard. "I'm Sheila. What's your name?"

"I'm Richard," he replied, and suddenly the other boys became talkative as well.

"My name's Kyle," the strange boy contributed.

"I'm James. James Potter."

Richard rolled his eyes inwardly, as there was a moment of awed silence. "_The_ James Potter?" Kyle finally asked.

James looked smug for just a second. Apparently, that was the reaction he had hoped for. "Yes," he replied. "James Potter the Second."

"So, you're gonna be a Gryffindor?" Sheila asked.

"I guess so," James said softly, looking up towards the castle, and even Richard could not tell whether that new, more modest tone was true or false. Most likely true, as he did not think James was that good an actor. "What about you?", James asked.

"No idea," Kyle answered, suddenly eager to enter the conversation. "My Mom was a Hufflepuff, but I don't think I'd fit in there."

Sheila looked down on her fragile fingers. "I hope I'll be Ravenclaw," she said. "My brother's there, and my Dad was there too. Everybody expects I'll be there too." She looked up at Richard and asked: "What about you?"

"I hope for Ravenclaw as well," Richard replied, sticking with the truth here. It did not really matter. Once he was at Slytherin, he would not talk to them to much anymore.

"Heads down, everyone!" yelled Hagrid. They had reached the cliff the castle of Hogwarts was build on. In front of them, the wide mouth of a dark tunnel opened. Twines of ivy forming a kind of curtain brushed their faces as they entered the cavern. The only light now came from Hagrid's lamp at the first boat which he occupied all by himself. After a while it reached a kind of underground harbor, that hat to be located almost directly beneath the castle.

"Everyone still with us?" Hagrid called, leading them up a passageway that ended right in front of the castle. With one gigantic fist he knocked three times at the huge wooden doors.

The door opened soundlessly, apparently all by itself, revealing a tall, rather young wizard waiting. Richard was not sure, but he thought he could see some scars at the man's face, who was smiling at the new students. Something about him reminded Richard of Harry Potter: They both had the same way of standing relaxed, yet seeming alert.

"The new lot, Professor Longbottom," said Hagrid, the giant.

"Thank you, Hagrid," the professor replied. "Students, please follow me."

He opened the door all the way, and the students followed them into an entrance hall so big that it reminded Richard of some kind of cathedral. Flaming torches lined the stone walls, filling the hall with dancing shadows, the ceiling was high and arched. Opposite the door a huge marble staircase led to upper floors, but much more prominent was the sober fountain in the middle of the hall. It looked as if it had been crafted from the fragments of bigger stones into the pure form of a round basin about three foots wide on a pillar little higher, but there were no corners of edges. The surface was smooth, except for the words that were driven in silver into the fringe of the basin. Richard was not able to read them from the distance. As he watched, he realized that it was not a fountain at all: a blue flame was burning within the wide basin.

When the students followed Professor Longbottom not to the wide door behind which the faint whisper of many voices was audible but to a smaller room, Richard stayed behind to see what the lining of the basin said. It was a memorial.

_Remember with sadness all those who died,_

_And those who remained __but for their loss cried._

_Remember the loved ones, the lost ones, the pain,_

_The battle fought, and the innocents slain. _

_Never again, our pledge shall say,_

_And peace we shall work for every day. _

On the ground of the basin, where the blue flame was burning, was written: _In memoriam of the victims from the Battle of Hogwarts._ The rest of the basin was filled with names.

Inside the blue flame the name "Colin Creevey," was sparkling. As Richard turned away, the flame changed to a bright pink, now reading "Nymphadora Tonks."

Professor Longbottom gave him a thoughtful look as Richard entered the small room, where all the other students had gathered, before he closed the door. The students were looking around rather nervously. Some of them screamed, when suddenly a weird little man with a bell-covered hat stepped into the room right through the wall, walking in the air above their heads. He was violently swinging a walking stick and several students ducked away, what made the appearance laugh horrible. Richard did not flinch.

"Peeves," James whispered next to him, sounding gleeful.

"Out," Professor Longbottom ordered in a stern voice that sounded as if used to seeing orders obeyed.

Peeves blew a lout raspberry at the waiting students, who tried to get away as he dived and vanished through the floor.

Professor Longbottom had to clap his hands to get the student's attention back. Their excited chatter ceased. "I welcome you all to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he called. "You have just met Peeves, the poltergeist of Hogwarts. Do not worry about him, he's quite harmless."

Richard noticed several students who did not at all look convinced by Professor Longbottom's words, who went on: "The start-of-term-banquet will begin soon, but before we all feast together, you shall be sorted into your houses. I will return to bring you into the Great Hall in a minute. Please wait quietly."

With that, he left, and a soft murmur rose up. Richard felt his hands clench into tight fist and had to make an effort to calm himself. Why was he so excited? It was nothing, really. It would not matter which house he was sorted into. And yet his heart raced as if he was about to enter a fight. Since he did not managed to calm down, he turned his efforts towards keeping up the façade and in this he did succeed, though it was harder than ever. When Professor Longbottom returned, he was surrounded by an easy air of perfect calm and mild interest. He was the only one.

"Please form a line now, and follow me," Professor Longbottom told the new students, and they left the chamber, crossed the hall – the fire within the memorial was green now – and entered the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Hundreds of students, seated along four long tables, turned towards them, eyeing them curious, as Professor Longbottom walked them up to the front side of the hall, where a fifth table stood slightly higher than the others. The teachers seated there were watching the newcomers as well.

Richard was now so nervous, he could barely appreciate the beauty of the Great Hall, of its high ceiling, matching the night sky outside, the chandeliers lighting it, and the delicacy of the pillars carrying the enchanted ceiling. It took all of his will powers not to stare back at his watchers, or tremble like little Sheila in front of him. He rubbed his finger slowly against each other, to hide their twitching as they wanted to close in tight fists. In front of them, on a four-legged stool, rested the famous Sorting Hat he had read about in "Hogwarts: a History."

James watched the hat intently, waiting for it to burst into song, but there was still a soft whisper in the hall and the hat kept quiet. Professor Longbottom had to clear his throat, and when there was finally silence, the hat moved and the rip near the brim opened like a mouth.

_Much trouble has been caused in past_

_From quartering our school,_

_And yet again, you see me here,_

_On this old lousy stool,_

_About to split once and again_

_A hopeful generation._

_I do the very best I can,_

_This much I have to mention,_

_In sending you where you belong_

_There's none as good as me,_

_For there is nothing in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see._

_Some of you be Gryffindors,_

_Full of courage, daring,_

_And some of you be Hufflepuffs,_

_Faithful ones, and caring._

_Some of you be Ravenclaws,_

_Of ready minds, and smart,_

_And others shall be Slytherins,_

_Who set themselves apart._

_I am the one dividing you,_

_To those four noble houses,_

_Who worked for many centuries_

_All in their founders' causes._

_Alas, they always worked alone,_

_And you all know the end._

_So now I ask you, once again,_

_Go on, but hand in hand._

The students burst into cheers once the hat fell silent and it bowed to its audience, but James thought that it did not quite look satisfied. The next moment Professor Longbottom stepped forward and James' attention slipped away from the hat. He kept stepping from one foot to the other, as the Professor called up "Adlan, Jonas," to be sorted first. Richard behind him hold quite still, smiling faintly. He looked as if he did not care at all which house he was put into.

Gryffindor, James thought. He just had to end up in Gryffindor. The hat would know that he was a Gryffindor.

Yet he could not help but to glance over towards the Slytherins when Kyle Hang was made a one. Things had been quiet around the former house of Voldemort since the war had ended eighteen years ago. Something like normality had returned – the normality of Hogwarts. There was still feud and distaste between Gryffindors and Slytherins, but the Hufflepuffs, first led by Professor Sprout and now by Professor Bones, had been quite willing to forgive them.

James' father, Harry Potter himself, had helped the progress a lot when he had insisted that the infamous Professor Snape was rewarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, after the Battle of Hogwarts had been over. Harry Potter had seen to it that the true story of the murder of Professor Dumbledore became public.

These days, more and more Muggleborns entered Slytherin, and many of these new students kept to the example of Professor Snape, worked in the shadows and worked hard. Their Head of House, Professor Slughorn, kept putting off his retirement, saying that he had finally found his vocation in leading Slytherin house to old glory.

And then, quite suddenly, Professor Longbottom called out: "Potter, James," and smiled at him, as he stepped forward. Whispers broke out everywhere within the Great Hall. Gryffindor, James told himself one last time, as the hat was falling over his eyes.

"Indeed," was all the hat said, before he called out loudly: "GRYFFINDOR!"

James smiled relieved as he went down towards the Gryffindor table. He was barely seated, when "Parsley, Sheila," was called forward.

Sheila looked very nervous when she walked to the stool, and once the hat had covered her eyes, there was a long, long silence. Finally, the hat called out "GRYFFINDOR!"

Sheila pulled of the Hat, looking shaken. James had no idea why, but he cheered just as the other Gryffindors.

Richard waited patiently until Professor Longbottom finally called him up. His mind was empty, when the hat was dropped on his head and fell over his eyes.

A soft whisper sounded in his ears. "Now, there's an interesting mind," the hat muttered. "Quite shrewd you are, fellow. Ambitious. You want to prove yourself, quite badly. Clever, too, not to say cunning. Gifted, oh yes… Daring as well, I may say. Plenty of courage, oh, and determination as well… So where do you belong, Richard Smith?"

Richard squirmed a little.

"Ah, you don't like you name? No, you don't like the ordinary. But where do I put you…"

_I don't care_, Richard thought. _Get it over with_.

"Oh, but you do care, very much so," the hat whispered. "And yet, surprisingly, you are determined to make the best of whatever you get. Isn't it so?"

_Ravenclaw, then, if I get the choice,_ Richard thought.

The hat was quiet for a second. "You know, you remind me of someone I have met a long time ago. His mind worked just like yours, but his decisions were different. I do not like getting burned. But you could be great in Slytherin, it's all there."

_I don't want to be send to Slytherin,_ Richard thought, angry now. _Get on with it, _he added.

"No, you don't want to be a Slytherin, for very Slytherin-like reasons," the hat chuckled. "What you want is Ravenclaw, but I'm not here to give you what you want, but what you need.

An so it shall be GRYFFINDOR!"


	6. The New Gryffindors

Chapter Six: The New Gryffindors

Richard got up slowly, dazzled. He handed the hat over to Professor Longbottom, who smiled warmly at him, and walked over to the Gryffindor table. Why on earth had the hat done this? Why Gryffindor, the house of the courageous ones? Certainly many of his character-treats where more outstanding than his courage? And what were those last words supposed to mean? What you need, not what you want? Why should he _need_ Gryffindor house? That was ridiculous. He did not need anyone.

He smiled when he sat down opposite to Sheila, who smiled back rather weakly. She was the only one sorted into Gryffindor who did not look happy about the hat's choice.

"Are you all right?" James Potter, who sat next to her, asked.

Sheila nodded, still looking shaken. "I just… I expected to be sorted into Ravenclaw. My whole family expected it. But the hat said I… I wasn't suited for Ravenclaw."

"Well, you're suited for Gryffindor, so what's the matter?"

Richard rolled his eyes inwardly. What a dumb question. What a James-like question. Not suited for Ravenclaw was the same as "not smart enough", which came close to "not smart at all" or even "being dumb". No wonder Sheila didn't look happy.

But Richard did not say anything and left it to James to cheer up Sheila. He was at once joined in his efforts by Fred Weasley. Richard directed his attention back towards his plate. It was still empty and he was quite hungry. He was just wondering when the food would appear, when Professor McGonagall got up, a faint smile on her face. Silence fell again over the great hall.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, first years," the headmistress said. "And welcome back to all of the older students. I wish you all a successful, a wonderful year at Hogwarts. Let the feast begin."

As she sat down again, the dishes in front of the students filled themselves with food. Richard did not waste time and dug in, just as the other students around him, or maybe just a tiny bit more. He felt he deserved it. It was the best he'd ever eaten. At home, there had never been enough food, most of the days leftovers, a lot of time no food at all, because his mother had simply forgotten to cook. As long as he could remember, "dinner" meant for Richard to go to the fridge and just hope the best. Lunch, luckily, had been served at school, and breakfast he had never had.

Now that he could eat all he liked, Richard helped himself generously to pie, and pork, and roast chicken, and everything else there was. For a while he was completely occupied with eating. Only when he had finished his second helping he remembered to have a look out at his surroundings.

Fred and James were still working on Sheila. The two boys liked to finish each other's jokes, and after Fred had produced a peanut apparently out of Sheila's ear, the girl really started to giggle.

"How did you do that?" she wanted to know, when the peanut vanished again. Richard yawned. He had seen sleights of hand like this before.

"Magic," Fred gave back, grinning.

"Nooo," Sheila made. "You couldn't. You'd need a wand for that, and you'd have to say a spell. They don't do nonverbal spells until after the OWLs!"

Fred laughed about her know-it-all-tone.

"We've got our own kind of magic," James, who didn't want to be left out, replied. "Look here."

He raised his empty left hand, made a show of turning it around, then closed it to a fist. With his right hand he made three circles above it, and then pulled out a long piece of light fabric from his fist.

Sheila stared amazed. "I've never seen anything like this," she whispered.

"It's a Muggle trick," Richard sneered. "There's no magic to it at all. Every Muggle could learn it."

"It is still amazing," Sheila giggled, when Fred acted as if he had pulled a walnut out of her nose. She looked as if she had completely forgotten about Gryffindor or Ravenclaw house.

When the plates had cleaned themselves from the desserts, Professor McGonagall got up again. "Now that we all have eaten, I have a few more announcements to make. First, I would like to remind you that the forest down on the grounds is forbidden to all students.

Second, there will be Quidditch trials in the second week of the term. Anyone who is interested to play should contact Madam Hooch."

"Aw," James groaned. "I wish they would allow first years their brooms… Are you gonna try out, Fred?"

"Sure," Fred gave back, but did not say anything more, because Professor McGonagall turned into their direction.

"Last, I have to inform you that Professor Binns has finally decided to move on to the other side," Professor McGonagall continued, and the whole hall exploded with cheers. The headmistress had to clear her throat several times, before it fell silent again.

"I am sure we all wish him a merry afterlife," she added drily, "and let us welcome Professor Wedge, our new teacher for History of Magic."

A small witch with curly brown hair that was turning grey jumped to her feet. Standing up, she was barely longer than sitting down. Her smile was warm and sincere.

"That's a soft one," James muttered, and applauded Professor Wedge as the other students.

Silently, Richard thought the same.

"Your schedules will be handed out tomorrow at breakfast," McGonagall finished. "I wish you all a very good night now. Prefects will lead the first years to the dormitories."

A great moving of chairs erupted when the students got up. The Gryffindor first years gathered at the end of the table closest to the door, and waited until a sturdy fifth grader came to pick them up, followed by a smaller girl of the same age. "I'm your prefect Chad Blaine," the boy introduced himself.

"I'm Leona Carl," the girl continued, smiling warmly. "Don't be afraid to ask us if you have any questions or problems."

As if, Richard thought. The girl looked like the junior-edition of Mrs. Ran, the social worker at his old school. Mrs. Candy, Richard had called her by himself, for she had always had some kind of candy with herself, which she shared generously. It had been the only good thing about her, and taking too much candy had been very dangerous, because then she would start asking stupid questions about his mother and how she was doing, and how he was doing, and once she had started there was no way to stop her. Her questions had been easy, though, easy to answer with lies.

Richard returned the prefects' smiles happily. The most important thing he had learned from Mrs. Candy was to never simply block a question. Subtlety was the key. Tell an answer and yet don't give an answer, and smile happy. If one looked angry, the Mses. Candy of the world became even more gluey.

The two prefects led the way towards the Gryffindor Tower, and Richard very carefully memorized the way as they walked. He had heard that first years tended to get lost in Hogwarts, but he was not going to be one of those blokes.

When a boy named Darrell got stuck in a step that vanished, Richard jumped the trick step, but the new girl Jocelyn behind him trapped right into it as well. Chad Blaine helped her, all chivalrous at once. Richard rolled his eye, and then wondered whether maybe wizards were more old-fashioned about this kind of thing. Maybe he needed to polish his manners a little? He didn't want to stand out, especially not in a negative way.

But for this night he was too tired to do much. Behind James and the boy Darrell he passed through the hole behind the portrait of the pink lady. "Fred Weasley" was password, which Richard thought just a bit tasteless, considering that another Fred Weasley was just a few steps behind him. He didn't mention it, though, because Fred looked quite proud.

"I've heard that the Pink Lady always chooses the name of one of the victims from the Battle," Sheila whispered. "Or other victims of Voldemort."

Should be easy to remember, Richard thought. And just as easy to hack. After all, the fountain in the hall showed the names as well.

He would have thought that the wizards had gotten over the whole war-thing in the eighteen years that had passed since the end of the Second War, but apparently, their memory was very long-lasting. Then again, the Muggles still mentioned World War II when ever appropriate, and also when not. With a wide smile he finally eyed the Gryffindor common room, his new home: It was a round room high up, viewing the grounds, decorated in red and gold. A fire burned invitingly in the fire place, and small groups of armchairs gathered everywhere.

Chad led the boys up a spiral staircase, behind which their dormitory laid. James and Fred obviously regretted that they had to split, but did with foretelling grins on their faces.

"Tomorrow," Fred said and vanished.

As Richard entered the dormitory, for once he was unable to hide his true feelings, but it really did not matter. It could not hurt if the other boys knew just exactly how happy he was to be in Hogwarts. Smiling he took his new bed in possession, and he knew at once that he would spend, if possible, all his holydays and school breaks at Hogwarts. Leaning back he had a wild dream about never having to meet his parents again, until he was a full grown wizards and could hex them completely out of his life. He would never worry about the police again. Or his Dad's friends. Or his mother, throwing up across the carpet, or about being kicked out by the landlord…

While he was giving himself to his happy dreams about his life as a wizard in his full powers, the other three boys gathered around James. There was Darrell, small, and just a little rabbit-like looking with his glasses, and his mousy hair. Then there was Jaden Lawson, who was not much taller than Darrell, but much bigger, and Finn Fulton, who was quite tall and very thin, with reddish-blond hair.

"So…," Darrell began. "You're Harry Potter's son?"

Richard snorted. What a great opener.

When James nodded, not very modestly, they all uttered different sounds of excitement.

"That's cool," Jaden exclaimed, and continued: "I heard he'll come to talk during Defense Against the Dark Arts classes."

"He usually does, once or twice a year," James nodded.

Watching them, Richard could tell that Finn was not quite getting what the others were talking about. He was probably Muggle-born as well, and listened intently.

James couldn't help but enjoy the interest the three boys showed. His parents had warned him not to boast and not to expect special treatment, but he did, even if just a little. He couldn't quite see what was wrong with that. It annoyed him that Richard still was not showing any signs of attention especially since Richard seemed to watch every one else constantly. It did make Richard interesting, though. Or not interesting, more intriguing. Who was that boy? Where did he come from? What had him made practice spells at the train?

He had to find out, and he would find out. But not tonight.

He was tired and stuffed from the food, and tomorrow his first year at school would start. He could barely wait for it.

The next morning, James was extremely glad he had brought the Marauder's Map. Quite a few people were watching him as soon as he left the dormitory and it would have looked rather stupid if Harry Potter's son had proven unable to find his classes alone. He did not have to worry about the walk to the great hall, as for breakfast he was accompanied by Fred, but when they got their schedules from Professor Longbottom, Fred learned that his first class would be Herbology out in the greenhouses on the grounds – so there was no way he could guide James to History of Magic.

With some luck, James managed to escape the crowd on the corridor. In a quiet corner he pulled out the Marauder's Map, and whispered: "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no-good," and at once the Map appeared, with hundreds of little dots moving through the halls. James found himself, and the room for History of Magic. He noticed that he was on the wrong floor, but found a very handy short cut which opened up behind a portrait not far away. He hurried over into another empty corridor, patted a little pony on a meadow and quickly stepped onto the staircase that appeared behind the picture.

Richard could not help but smile when James appeared at the class room just a few seconds before the bell rang, He himself had left breakfast early, so he had been in no hurry to find the room. It did seem like he was the only one though, which was great. Sheila came, chattering shyly with five girls, and Darrell, Jaden, and Finn, who apparently were working on getting to know each other better. Richard sighed. He would have to do that later himself, just to be on the save side, and not to appear anti-social. That's what they had called him at his old school, anti-social. Well, Mrs. Ran had. The other students had had different names for him, which he did not care to remember.

But before he could carefully mix with the other students, thankfully Professor Wedge showed up. She was wearing a long black skirt underneath her robes, which looked quite, well, witchy indeed, with lots of black tufts, and a matching shirt, lots of scarf and quite a bit jewelry. Her face was round and smiling, as she opened the door, humming to herself.

A soft one, really, James thought when he followed her into the class room. He took a seat at second row – not too close to the teacher, not too far away – and was passed by Sheila, who took a seat front row in the middle. Richard placed himself front row as well, but a little more to the side. Darrel, Finn and Jaden came to join James, though. The other five girls of Gryffindor, James couldn't remember their names from last night, split up: one of them filled the second row, the other four went to sit behind James and the other boys. They were giggling softly.

Professor Wedge cleared her throat loudly, and Finn and Darrel stopped talking, but it took the four in the last row a moment to notice that the lesson had begun.

"I welcome you all to your first year, your very first lesson at Hogwarts," Professor Wedge started, smiling warmly at them. "I do hope that you all will feel at home at Hogwarts quickly. Now let's see who's with us today…" She hummed softly, as she filed through a bunch of papers, pulling out a sheet.

"Darrel Adams?", she began taking the roll, and Darrel raised his hands.

"Very nice," said Professor Wedge. "Jocelyn Davidson?"

James leaned around to look at her, when the girl at the far end of second row raised her hand quite timidly. "Here," she said in a soft voice.

"Welcome, dear," Professor Wedge said, then furrowed her brows. "Though you may not have an easy start…"

James was not sure whether he had understood the teacher correctly, and eyed Jocelyn curiously. The girl looked his direction, avoiding the teacher's gaze. James gasped, when, for just a second, their eyes connected. He knew those eyes! His brother had these eyes, and his father: bright green!

He realized he was staring at the girl, and smiled, trying to look charming, and for a second there was a look of recognition at Jocelyn's face, but then the girl paled, as if she was scared, averted her gaze and stared down at her hands. James furrowed a brow. He had met many people over time, but he had never met fear. Most people loved him, some people envied him, others tried to steal some of his popularity and fame, but nobody had ever been afraid of him!

That was downright ridiculous!

And just a bit annoying. Now there were two people he couldn't understand, and both of them in his house and year. First Richard, who was staring at Professor Wedge as if she was withholding the secret of enlightenment from him, and now Jocelyn, who did not dare looking up at all.

Instead of following the lesson, James decided to have a closer look at what his class-mates were doing, even though he felt like Richard doing it. The weird boy seemed to have a contest with Sheila about who could answer the most questions. Sheila was putting up a brave fight, but it seemed like Richard had not only read but absorbed those textbooks. Considered that he was quite obviously Muggle-born, his knowledge was simply amazing, though there were some question where James felt he could have given better, more detailed answers. He didn't, though. Finn, Darrel, and Jaden behaved like boys would at their first day of class: Finn was shy, and apparently slightly confused, while Darrel and Jaden tried to present their best side to the teacher while not showing off as Richard did.

"What a jerk," Jaden muttered under his breath, when Richard corrected one of his answers. James could hear him, and Richard apparently as well, for he suddenly spun around and shot Jaden a look that could have make water freeze.

"Nosy little know-it-all," Darrell approved. Jaden and Darrell seemed to be on their best way to become friends.

"He's been studying at the train-ride," James added.

Both boys turned his direction. "Really?" they wanted to know.

James nodded. "Bet he's been up all night rereading that textbook," he continued. Only when he said it, he realized he did not like Richard at all.

6


	7. Pumpkin Juice Jelly

Chapter Seven: Pumpkin Juice

History was easy, Richard decided. It was mostly about memorizing names and dates, and he had always been good at remembering things. It was boring, too. No thinking. Grindelwald was bad and Dumbledore was good. Do not question this, and everything will work out fine.

Personally, Richard didn't think Grindelwald's ideas had been that bad. He had met plenty of Muggles who might look better as a zombie – pardon, as an inferius. Anyway – what was wrong with wizards ruling the world? Why should they hide? They were of superior power, after all. And hadn't the Muggles proven over and over again that they were unable to take care of themselves, let alone the world? They were the ones destroying nature, they didn't care about half of Africa starving, they had started two world wars – but he was fooling himself: at heart, wizards were the same. There were just less of them.

No, the only difference between wizards and Muggles was knowledge, knowledge of magic, which meant power. Hogwarts was full of knowledge, lying around for the daring ones to take.

Obviously, though, it was invisible to his classmates. They didn't really listen.

Richard couldn't quite blame them. Grindelwald wasn't on the curriculum for first years.

"We'll start on the goblin wars," Professor Wegde announced instead. "But I do like to start with a short overview over the very interesting history of magic."

Muggleborn, Richard guessed as he left the classroom, following Jocelyn Davidson, who certainly was a Muggleborn. For some reason, she seemed to be scared of James Potter. It was kind of nice to meet somebody who did not worship Potter, just for a change. However, it soon appeared that Jocelyn was scared of everything and everyone within Hogwarts. She had green eyes like a cat, but looked almost constantly like a startled deer seeing a car racing towards it. Richard gave her his best smile when she noticed him staring, but she didn't smile back. Instead, she blushed and hurried of into the wrong corridor.

Richard shrugged and moved on to Transfiguration. He was used to scaring people of his own age, and sometimes even older pupils. And if even that James could scare Jocelyn… well.

The girl was the last one to slide into the classroom right before the teacher, Professor Bones, closed the door. She was rather young, another hero from the Second War, slender and not too tall. She wore black from hat to feet, and had a narrow, slightly elongated face.

Not so soft, Richard thought, when the Professor tipped her desk with her wand. There was a loud "bang" which abruptly ended the chatting of the girls in the last row.

"Thank you for your attention," Professor Bones said with a brisk smile. "And welcome to your first lesson of Transfiguration, which is – even if I say so myself – one of the most interesting subjects taught at Hogwarts. It also is one of the most difficult and dangerous ones. I will therefore not permit chitchat in my class."

She threw a glance at the girls in the last row, who fell silent again. Richard rolled his eyes. They were seated exactly the same way as in history, him and Sheila front row, the rest of the class behind them.

James heaved a sigh of relief at the end of the lesson. This was supposed to be his favorite subject? And how could Professor Bones be head of Hufflepuff? Weren't they supposed to be the friendly ones, nice and openheartedly, but slightly dump? Everyone said so!

Professor Bones however was neither. If he hadn't known better, he would have expected her in Ravenclaw. She certainly seemed to have the brains for it. She was her own subject's biggest fan, and a strict teacher. There had been no talking after she had transformed Patricia's ink glass into a big, slimy snail, when the girl would not quit chatting with her new friends.

James shook his head. This lesson had not been much fun, and there was a load of homework ahead of him. At least Richard and Sheila hat stopped their little contest. Most of the time Professor Bones had been lecturing, and the eagerness on Richard's face as he listened had made James want to hit him with something heavy. He was determined to beat Richard, in Transfiguration at the least, if not in every subject. He had to!

So when class was over, he met with Fred and pulled him over to the library to do the homework Professor Bones had given them.

"What's wrong with you?" Fred asked, when James ran through the pages of "A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration".

"Nothing," James gave back. "Remember that Richard-boy from the train? Got to beat him at Transfiguration. You gonna help me? I need to do this homework, and then I need to learn that spell to turn matches into needles."

"Sure I'll help you," Fred gave back. "But don't you think doing better homework than him is somewhat lame? Let's try for something more extraordinary!"

"Like what?" James asked.

"Like… like putting a jellyfish into his bed. Or better – transforming him into a jellyfish. Shouldn't be too hard – he's already as slimy."

James laughed. "You're right, he is. Where do we get a jellyfish?"

"No idea," Fred gave back happily. "But I know a spell that'll transform pumpkin juice into jelly. It's really easy, how about that?"

"What does the jelly taste like?" James wanted to know.

"Like vinegar," Fred replied.

James rubbed his hands with glee. "Great. We'll best get started tonight. Got to show you something first." He pulled out the Marauder's Map. "Any place within the castle you wanted to go but never dared?"

He opened the map, and pointed his wand at it. "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good," he whispered, while Fred stared.

"What's that?" Fred whispered. And then: "You've got to be kidding – why didn't you say…!"

"Cause I didn't want Smith to see this," James gave back. "Who knows what he'd make off of it?"

Fred Weasley the Second gingerly ran a finger over the map, tracing corridors, smiling like a child in front of a Christmas tree. "How did you get this?" he asked.

"Dad had given it to Teddy when he was in school, and Teddy gave it back this summer. So I decided it was our turn now. What do we do? I want to use it!"

"Shh," Fred hissed suddenly. "Someone's coming."

James turned around just in time to meet a pair of startling green eyes. Jocelyn squealed and hurried off, almost running away, leaving James to wonder what exactly he had done to her.

"What was that about?" Fred asked.

"No idea," James gave back with a shrug. "She's in my year, no clue what's wrong with her. Her name's Jocelyn Davidson, and she's terrified of her own shadow, that's all I know."

"You just hit a nest, didn't you? Her, that Richard guy, what about the rest of your year?" Fred shook his head.

"Oh, the others are all right," James said, shrugging. "There's Darrell, Jaden, Finn and Sheila, you met her at the feast, and Patricia, and a couple of girls whose names I can't remember right now. They talk all the time."

"O well, not too bad then," Fred replied. "Anyway, how about this: We can get your homework done tomorrow, and now we practice the jelly spell? I bet you can manage until dinner, and then we can give Jocelyn some reason to be mad at you. And Richard as well."

"Sounds great," James gave back, rolling up his sleeves, though he didn't think that Jocelyn could get mad at him. Something was wrong with her. "Where do we practice?" he asked.

Fred looked at the map carefully, and finally pointed out an empty room. "Here," he said. "Let's hurry."

Richard suppressed a sigh when he entered the library, seeing Potter and Weasley in a corner. He found himself a quiet table and dropped his things, before he began to leaf through the next row of books. It took some self-discipline to finish homework before supper. History bored him a lot, so he finished it quickly, before he began to work on Transfiguration, which was much more interesting. He was just done when it was time for dinner, and he hurried of. He couldn't remember the last time he had had three decent meals at one day, and he wasn't going to miss one now.

He was so preoccupied with that thought that he barely noticed Weasley and Potter, who were following right behind him. Only when he entered the Great Hall he noticed their faces, and a chill ran down his spine. If these two smiled like this, they were most certainly up to no good. Without thinking about it, his hand moved down to the knife in his pocket. Then it retreated quickly, seizing his wand instead.

But he was being stupid. Certainly even James Potter and Fred Weasley wouldn't cause any mayhem at the Great Hall. That would be just crazy, what with all the teachers were watching.

Richard entered the hall and found himself a seat near the end of the Gryffindor table. He liked being able to see what happened down the long rows of chairs, especially with Fred and James grinning like maniacs. When he looked around, he noticed Jocelyn and Sheila sitting together nearby. The girls seemed to get on quite well and chatted while looking at the food, deciding what to eat.

Richard had no idea what they were doing staring at it. It was meant to be eaten, not meant to look good. It was food, after all. And all the food at Hogwarts was delicious.

For a second he thought about joining them, but then he shrugged it off. What would that look like, a boy sitting with two girls? Not that he would have minded sitting with them. They seemed to be the most sensible of all the new Gryffindors, and he would have preferred to befriend them instead of Jaden and Darrel. But he had a feeling that might not be a good idea. At his old school, boys did not befriend girls, and wizards were not that different. Or were they?

It was better not to take a chance. If he concentrated and kept his wits together, he could pose as the shy boy who would not dare talk to the others at first, and slowly work his way into the James-Potter-fan-club Jaden, Darrel and Finn had founded.

No, not Finn, Richard decided. Finn had apparently no idea what was so special about James either, but enough good sense to hail him with the others. Richard furrowed a brow and thought about the train ride. He should not have let the opportunity slip to befriend famous Mr. Potter then. Doing it now would be hard. Not unmanageable, though.

He smiled at himself while he piled his plate with food. He was meant to be a Slytherin after all, even if the Hat thought that Gryffindor would do him good, and he knew what was said about that house. There had been some very informative conservations going on during the feast the day before, and he had taken time to listen.

He just had to work like a Slytherin. Bide your time. Work hard. Keep your head down until the right moment.

Stab them in the back while they're not looking your way.

I should feel grateful to the Hat, Richard thought. A smart and cunning Slytherin would attract the wrong kind of attention. But a smart and level-headed Gryffindor would be welcomed everywhere.

He dug in and rejoiced in the fact that from now on, there'd be just as much food tomorrow and the day after tomorrow, and every other day. Lost in thought he reached for his glass of pumpkin juice. And gagged.

James could not quite hold back his laughter when Richard stared at his glass as if it had bitten him. After a second Smith looked up and when their eyes met the laughter died in James's throat. Even though Richard's face was perfectly calm, something strange was gleaming within them.

When Richard looked towards the staff table, James was certain he would call for a teacher. He was just the kind of know-it-all who would run for a higher authority whenever something happened to him. But Richard did not move, he just stared. He did not say anything either, and yet James was almost certain that he was trying to do magic.

Next, he felt strange pain underneath his left eye, as if someone had punched him right into the face.

"Ouch," James hissed, too surprised to suppress the urge to raise his arms, as if he could protect himself this way.

"What's wrong?" Fred asked. The next second he made the same motion. "Merlin's beard," he whispered. "What was that?"

James nodded in Richard's direction.

Richard's hands shook with rage when he reached for his glass again to give the jelly-like substance inside a jiggle. It tasted like the milk his mother kept forgetting in the fridge, foul, with just a hint of sour. It still smelled like pumpkin juice, though.

How dared they mess with his dinner?

Didn't they have anything else to play with?

And why him? He had not done anything, they barely knew each other! It was his first day at Hogwarts, he was new, he –

But that was the point, wasn't it? Go for the new guy before he makes friends and he will never find any, thus staying an easy target.

He held back a tiny smile. Sorry, James, a voice inside his head whispered. I've played this game plenty of times. No easy target here.

If James wanted a war, he could have one. Richard was determined to make sure that the other boy would regret his little bit of magic. The invisible punch he had given him and his friend would just be the beginning.

3


End file.
